


Exit Wounds (The No Exit Remix)

by sheron



Category: Marvel (Comics), Marvel 616
Genre: Civil War (Marvel), Hopeful Ending, Hurt Steve Rogers, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Civil War (Marvel), Protective Tony Stark, Stark: Disassembled
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-24
Updated: 2018-02-24
Packaged: 2019-03-20 20:23:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,375
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13725312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sheron/pseuds/sheron
Summary: Tony gets trapped together with Steve in a collapsed HYDRA facility, which makes it hard to avoid him.





	Exit Wounds (The No Exit Remix)

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [No Exit](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10445082) by [izazov](https://archiveofourown.org/users/izazov/pseuds/izazov). 
  * In response to a prompt by [izazov](https://archiveofourown.org/users/izazov/pseuds/izazov) in the [Cap_Ironman_Remix_Madness_2018](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/Cap_Ironman_Remix_Madness_2018) collection. 



> Thank you to MsErmestH for the beta! This is set in the nebulous timeline after _Invincible Iron Man Vol. 4 - Stark: Disassembled_ (that is, after Tony wakes up with missing memories from the brain-delete), but before _Avengers Prime_. Much of the dialogue and scenario is borrowed from the original MCU story I'm remixing, please check it out!

 

The first thing, the very _first_ thing Tony did when he opened his eyes was ask if Steve was okay. And Steve said he was fine, Steve said to start looking for a way out, _use that genius brain of yours, Stark_.

They aren't in a good place, physically or emotionally. Emotionally, their relationship apparently sustained crippling blows that culminated in their fighting each other on the streets of New York, if the headlines are to be believed, and then― Tony doesn't like to think about it. Then he _forces_ himself to think it: Captain America Assassinated. 

_And who's fault is that, Tony?_

The point is, even though Steve is back now, things are unsettled and unsettling between them. Steve remembers their Civil War; Tony pieced what bits of knowledge he could from the headlines and from the way people speak about it. Judging by their distrustful looks, it is probably exactly as bad as he imagines. The world's moved on, Steve has forged a path ahead and Tony, try though he might, can't seem to catch up.

Physically... well. Tony brushes his palm across his forehead, wiping dust and blood. When the building collapsed around them, Tony took a hard knock to the forehead, above his left eye, and the bruise there stings incessantly. He didn't lose consciousness for more than a moment, though, that's good. Their comms might not be able to penetrate all the rubble but he knows as long as they have air down here, they can wait it out until their absence is noted and their friends track them down and dig them out.

Of course, that assumes they stay down here instead of rescuing themselves. Steve is at the opposite concrete wall, where the door used to be, working on moving large chunks of collapsed rubble out of the way with bare hands. He is grunting minutely as he moves the heavy blocks, and the sound breaks Tony's attempts at concentration. Maybe Tony does have a concussion. It's difficult to focus.

"... scans show there is an 87% chance that the explosion would initiate a chain reaction that would collapse what still remains whole of this entire section of the facility." 

At A.I.'s report, Steve leans his hand against the large steel door, and bows his head. "Right down on our heads," he says in a low, resigned voice.

Tony can't stand looking at him for too long. That's a half truth. _He can look at Steve forever, like a besotted idiot._ He yanks his eyes away. "Right, then," he clasps his hands together, feeling the scratches on the metal of the gauntlet covering one hand with the bare fingers of the other. He casts about almost desperately, looking at their surroundings for anything he can use to get them out. There is nothing. Empty space and concrete walls, and a flickering overhead light that creates long shadows across the room. His suit is basically useless, aside from minor diagnostics. He has maybe enough power to try blast a small hole in the ceiling in case they start running out of oxygen. Since that is just as likely to bring the whole remaining structure down on top their heads, he is leaving it for the last resort. "It seems we're stuck here for the time being."

"Yeah, I gathered that the first time you said it," comes the curt reply, an edge to Steve's tone that Tony's still not used to hearing. Steve doesn't pause in his attempts at digging them out, just reaches for another large chunk of the wall or ceiling, whatever it is that lies in his path. 

Tony wouldn't have heard it, except there is nothing in this empty space but them, and— Every cell, every molecule of Tony's being seems attuned to the little sighs of exertion from Steve, whether he likes it that way or not. 

The sound of a small pained grunt slices right through him.

A sick sort of dread coils around Tony's chest. He stops and turns to look at Steve, _really_ look at him. Steve's still hunched over, with one hand holding on to the concrete wall, while his other rises minutely to his abdomen, before being forced down to his side, in a fist.

"What were those odds again, Stark?" Steve tries to keep up conversation, even though he has to clench his teeth right after.

In the ensuing silence of the room, Tony can imagine he hears Steve's harsh breathing. Tony himself has stopped, as ripples of realization spread through his mind.

_Steve._

"Scan Captain Rogers for injuries," Tony says to his A.I., hearing his own voice as if through a great distance.

"Tony, it's really not―"

" _Don't,_ " Tony interrupts tersely, his voice unnaturally calm as if his world isn't perched precariously on an edge.

The A.I. answers promptly, "Multiple minor contusions, multiple abrasions and bruises, a cracked rib and a large gash on Captain's abdomen which is bleeding profusely. If the bleeding doesn't stop, at this rate it will take approximately two hours before the blood loss becomes critical."

When her voice falls silent, Tony stands there, and tries to remember to breathe. Visions from the news play out before his eyes, Steve bleeding to death on the courthouse steps, his autopsy report, the recording from the funeral. It's like he is locked in persistent nightmare where the _worst_ keeps happening, where he keeps watching Steve die and then things reset, and he does it again, and again.

He moves forward a step and sees Steve's broad back tense, as he straightens; turns.

"Look, Tony, it's not that bad," Steve says in that reassuring voice that makes Tony _want_ to believe him, even though he knows, _knows_ that he is right about this and Steve is too pale, a glaze of pain over his eyes he can't hide. His dark uniform hides the stains of blood remarkably well.

Now Tony knows that the blood stains are there, he can almost smell the blood from all the way on the other side of the enclosed space. Steve's blood. It makes him sick. He walks over to Steve's side, feeling his body move like a marionette, somehow outside his conscious control.

"Were you even planning to tell me you are bleeding?" Tony's hand is at his side, but it aches, absolutely aches to rise to the damp material on Steve's stomach and lift it out of the way, to see the wound more clearly. He needs to know. He needs to do something.

Steve snaps, "What, you have a way of _controlling_ that, too?"

Tony flinches. It keeps coming up between them. His need to control everything. Steve hates it. Steve hates―

Tony isn't the only control-freak in this room. As evidenced by the way Steve had let him think he was fine.

"I didn't mean that," Steve says, subdued, after a moment, "I'm sorry." With a sigh, he pulls the uniform out of the way to reveal his injury. That kicks Tony's brain into gear, _that_ steels his resolve. He always has a way out, doesn't he? And the end should justify the means? There used to be a time he didn't believe that.

Tony looks down at his gauntlet, and back at Steve, meeting his eyes. He can't say aloud what he is thinking, but he feels Steve read it in his eyes anyway.

"Okay. Do it," Steve says after a moment. His eyes stay steady throughout. He maybe even smiles a little.

Tony would _die_ for his smile.

This is worse. This is Tony having to deliberately hurt him. Everything slows: his breathing, his heartbeat. He can't do it. He can't hurt Steve more. Even if it means cauterizing the wound. His fingers tremble an inch from the injury. In front of him, Steve gives a raged sigh. He's in pain, no matter how well he's been hiding it up till now, and he is steadily losing blood.

Tony's insides churn and he squeezes his eyes shut. A moment later, a heavy hand lands softly on his shoulder, making him start and look. "Do it," Steve orders, with that calm, determined gaze of his meeting Tony's tormented one.

Tony swallows down something that's either hysterical laughter or a sob trying to break free and lifts his gauntlet. His power output is adjusted to four percent, just enough to efficiently stop the bleeding without punching a hole through Steve. In front of him, Steve grips the wall and tries to find a balanced position. 

"Here," Tony offers his other hand. "Hold on to me." He doesn't mind if Steve holds on with all his strength; Tony can take it, he can take anything if it's Steve. 

Relenting, Steve lets Tony put a hand around his waist, and wraps his arm around Tony's shoulders. Then he leans a little more heavily on Tony than either of them expects and Tony just manages to retain his balance, keeping both of them upright. Steve's face creases briefly in a grimace of pain before his expression is wiped clean again.

Tony tries to find the corner of his mind where he could observe this with detachment. It doesn't work.

He puts the gauntlet directly against the wound and fires.

Steve lets out a soft hiss, but his hand never clenches Tony's shoulder, it lays resting there. He maybe leans into Tony a little more, but that's all the reaction he gives. Tony tries to breathe through it, holding Steve. His A.I. scans the now blackened wound on his abdomen and reports that the bleeding has stopped. The smell of burned flesh hits him at the same moment.

Knees suddenly weak, Tony finds himself slumping into Steve's side in reaction. They both lean heavily on each other, and on the concrete wall behind them for support.

Moments pass.

Tony knows he's supposed to release Steve. Maybe help him sit down and rest while they wait for their rescue. But he can't make himself let go of the man he's pressed up against. It's a lie, it's all a pretense; a closeness that's brought on by external circumstances rather than any inner desire on Steve's part. And yet. 

As they stand there, in a half-embrace, it's Steve's fingers that rub a soothing circle into his shoulder. Steve's other hand lifts up and he brushes a stray trickle of blood off Tony's brow with a gentle swipe of fingers. His eyes track Tony's face with a sorrowful, serious gaze.

Tony waits, and waits some more for him to pull away.

They don't do this, and with good reason. There's just too much... _everything_ between them now. Tony doesn't even remember the past years, but they've clearly left a permanent mark on Steve. There's something in his eyes now whenever he looks at Tony, a kind of worry that wasn't there before. A kind of knowing. Tony can't read it, he doesn't understand what it is, but it's terrifying.

When Tony tries to back up, Steve doesn't allow it. Steve's arm keeps him held in place. "Doctor Lisk says you've been working until you pass out."

"There's a lot to do," Tony answers immediately, before Steve can take this to where Tony senses he's going. Tony's eyes cut away to the side. "There's so much to catch up on." It's a weak excuse. Tony _feels_ weak, standing there in Steve's half embrace, unable to make himself move away even though he knows it's the right thing to do. 

"He says your motor skills and other indicators are fine, but you've been avoiding regular checkups. When I try to visit, you're always too busy _working_."

Tony glances back at Steve. This close, Steve's got a couple of inches on him as Tony looks up into his eyes, and ― _fuck, they are blue from up this close_. "You sure this is the right time for this talk?"

Steve's lips form a sad smile. "You can't run away from me here, even though you've made it quite clear you're willing to try. You also can't ignore me, or my calls," he says, a touch bitterly. "So yeah, I'm sure."

"I thought that was for the best," Tony says in a quiet voice. "I thought we could use some...space."

"Space?" Steve almost scoffs. "Is that what you want?"

Tony's heart gives a despairing flutter, a hope for something frightening and unknown working through him, filling the hollow space in his chest. If he didn't know better, he'd think the RT was malfunctioning.

"Is that what you want, Tony?" Steve repeats.

This is like a fevered dream. He should lie, smile, move away politely. Get that space he professes to want between them instead of this overwhelming, engulfing closeness.

"No," the word falls from his lips rough and so heartfelt. Quietly, he adds, "No, I don't want space."

Steve gives a slow nod while his eyes track Tony's, like he's trying to read what's going on behind them, like if he tried hard enough he could see inside Tony's brain or his heart, beating erratically behind the RT node. Like he wants to know what Tony is thinking; wants to know _Tony_ again _._

"I don't want space either," Steve whispers. For a moment his eyes slide shut and Tony wants to smooth out the little wrinkle on his brow, but then Steve opens them again and Tony is caught in his gaze. "I want us to talk. We― we should have talked sooner," he says with an odd break in his voice.

"Okay," Tony promises, softening it with a quirk of lips that tries to be a smile. _Whatever you want_ , he doesn't say aloud, but the thought bounces around in his head and he tightens his hold on Steve. "Then we'll talk."

"Good," Steve says, fierce and heated, his fingers gripping tightening around Tony's shoulders in return. "That's good." His eyes are locked on Tony's face with a bursting hope that eases the lines on his face, softens the curve of his mouth.

For a rare moment, Tony thinks they are both seeing the exact same future ahead, and he would change nothing about it, so he stays still, smiling silently at Steve.

 


End file.
